


Legato Solos

by capitalnineteen



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 23:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitalnineteen/pseuds/capitalnineteen
Summary: Before their song was ready, before their big performance, Barry and Lup spent their last few months consumed with thoughts of one another.





	Legato Solos

“I think we’re really onto something with this, Barry.” Lup wiped stray rosen dust from her violin and tucked it carefully back in its case. Her head was tilted down as if she were paying attention to what her hands were doing but after six months of doing this every day, she could put her violin away in her sleep. Instead, she was watching Barry through the screen of hair falling around her face. 

He hadn’t moved from the piano bench. Instead he was looking over the music sheets in front of him while he unconsciously rubbed his right thumb up the fingers of his left hand, running up the length of each finger from palm to tip then moving to the next finger and repeating the process. 

Lup fastened the case closed and pulled her hair back over one shoulder so she could watch him unobstructed while he was absorbed. After a moment he reversed the motion and used his left hand to work at the muscles of his right hand.

She stepped closer, moving beside him as if she were looking at his sheet music as well. He glanced back at her then returned his attention to the notations he’d made as they worked. His hands moved slower now but she couldn’t help watching the way his fingers curled, the way the skin pulled tight over his knuckles, the way his thumb pushed into his palm… She’d spent a lot of time watching his hands this cycle. 

When they’d first begun to play together, she’d stood facing him at his side. But too often her attention had drifted to the way his fingers seemed to dance over the keys of the piano. Her thoughts would drift to other ways he could use those hands and suddenly her violin was forgotten and the notes faltered. She’d murmur an apology and try to get her mind back on their song.

Unable to stop herself, she placed a hand on his shoulder. The white cotton button up shirt was well worn. It still looked good but the material was soft and pliant the way the new one he always regenerated in wasn’t. This one had been around for more than a few cycles, clearly. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the shirt. Her fingers splayed out and her thumb rubbed back and forth along the seam on his shoulder.

“Don’t you think it’s shaping up?”

Barry dropped his hands to his thighs and looked up at her. She managed to tear her gaze up from his lap, from those strong hands resting on the familiar blue of his denim, managed to meet his look.

“It really is,” he said. The pleased smile on his face was wonderful. This whole cycle had been such a gift. Sure, they were working hard. They’d both had to drag nearly forgotten skills up to performance level on top of composing. But it was some of the happiest hard work she’d ever done. And every time he offered her one of those smiles it felt even more worth it.

She wanted to wrap her hands around his face and smooch his fucking brains out. Instead, she pulled her hand off his shoulder and dropped it to her side. 

“Okay, well…” Lup bit her lip as her eyes dropped to his mouth. “Uh… guess we’re done for the day.” She turned to pick up her violin case.

“Lup?”

Her ears stood up and she turned back to face him, eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Uh… see you tomorrow,” he said.

She nodded, smiled, and went out the door.

\---

Ugh. ‘See you tomorrow?’ What kind of lame comment was that? Why couldn’t he tell her how amazing she sounded, how great her part of the song sounded, how beautiful she was, ask her to dinner… anything?! ‘See you tomorrow.” Arg.

Every moment with her this cycle had been both pleasure and torture. How had he survived being in love with her so long? If this went on much longer he was going to spontaneously combust just looking at her. If he pined any harder, Magnus would probably try to carve him.

He dropped his head, letting it sag so low his chin hit his chest. She was so amazing, so wonderful, so completely fucking breathtaking… 

And sometimes she looked at him and he thought, ‘She has to know how I feel. And not just know, she has to feel something too. She…’

For a few years now every spare moment they had was spent together. They worked together. They learned together. They stayed up through the night talking about everything. They had wandered worlds alone together. They had stayed right in the familiar rooms of the Starblaster and everything else seemed to disappear. 

There’s no way she would let so much of her time be wasted on him if she didn’t feel something.

Right?

But it was like that morning, when she’d asked him to help because her necklace was caught on her collar. She’d pulled her hair aside and he’d tried to untangle the chain and the thread from her shirt, tried to unwind them without caressing her neck, without leaning down to kiss the soft skin that made his fingers tingle where he grazed against her.

There wasn’t anything to that, necessarily. That was just a friend asking another friend to help with a jewelry issue. But something about the way she’d bent her neck… Something about the way she’d seemed to hold her breath while he worked… Something about the little shiver when he’d smoothed her necklace out and tucked the loose thread down out of the way, that moment when his fingers touched the skin under her collar…

He could close his eyes and picture her neck again, the delicate curls at the back of her hairline, the gentle curve of skin below that, the soft shadow of her collarbone. He’d wanted to run his fingers over every inch of her skin, wanted to trail kisses behind that touch. 

Gods, he needed a cold shower just thinking about her neck. How was he going to survive another six months in this rehearsal room with her?

Barry’s back was stiff and sore from the long hours at the piano and his hands ached. After months at this he should be better conditioned for it. On the way back to the room he had here, he stopped off and drank two cups of the medicinal tea - bitter and overly sweetened to try to cover the taste. He made his way slowly back to his room, just waiting for it to work. If he could ever think ahead a little, he’d bring some to their rehearsal space. Then it could start working before he got in such bad shape.

He sighed. Yet another reason Lup should never get involved with him. How out of shape did you have to be for sitting at a piano to wear you out?

He was being unfair and he knew it. He’d seen plenty of younger artists trying to stretch the stiffness out of abused muscles after long hours painting or playing or whatever they spent too long doing.

The truth was that there was more than just the rehearsal hours making him uncomfortable. 

He’d been in that little room with Lup for hours, painfully aware of how close she was, of how beautiful she was, of every accidental brush of skin or nearby exhale.

Since the thing with the necklace he could have sworn his fingers hadn’t stopped tingling. And burned into his brain was the image of her neck curved in front of him. Or the arm she’d raised to hold her hair out of the way. Or the spill of hair when she’d let it fall back over her shoulders.

Every single thing about her he wanted to touch. Kiss. Look at forever. 

Before he went back to his room he considered that shower. A cold shower to deal with his heated thoughts? Or a hot shower to soothe his muscles? 

Or maybe skip both and find something that could deal with the first issue and distract from the second.

He bypassed the bathroom and entered his room. As soon as he shut the door he gave up trying to block out the thoughts that had plagued him all afternoon. 

Instantly there was a slideshow of Lup in his head. Lup smiling or Lup laughing or dear all the little baby gods, Lup pulling her hair to the side and the way, her neck arched as she sort of turned to look back at him… 

Feeling guilty for the thoughts, Barry locked the door and shucked off his robe. 

Gods, thoughts of her absolutely plagued him. Her hands, her mouth, her laugh, her eyes. The way she stood beside him this afternoon with her hand on his shoulder. The way she laughed at something when they stopped for lunch. Laughing so hard that she almost choked on her sandwich. The way they were building this song, building it  _ together _ , making something new that had never existed that was a combination of the two of them.

His hand was on himself, cupping over his jeans because he couldn’t quite admit how much he wanted to throw off his clothes and fuck his hand while his head was filled with thoughts of her. It felt wrong, it felt like he was trespassing somehow. 

What would she think?

But instead of shame he only felt more lust, need, want. He imagined her eyes bright and surprised but… somehow interested. Imagined her  _ looking _ at him and  _ fuuuck… _

He yanked his jeans down, shoved boxers out of the way, and - hand slick from a muttered spell - he leaned against the door and surrendered. He’d fought this off so many times but he couldn’t anymore. He couldn’t stop thinking of her, couldn’t stop wanting her, couldn’t stop…

Barry didn’t imagine his hand was hers, didn’t picture a scenario between the two of them. Instead, he just sank into the feeling he’d been carrying around for decades, let the thoughts of her overwhelm him and his body react. He pressed his head against the door, eyes squeezed shut, hand working away as his breath came faster. 

When he finished he mumbled the spell to clean himself and just stood for a moment, heart pounding. He couldn’t keep doing this, couldn’t keep living with this loveneedwant  _ thing _ inside him taking him over more every day. 

But he didn’t want to be free of it, either. It had come to define him. He used to be the scientist, or the nerd, or teacher, or the fat guy, or the introvert, or whatever… now he’s just the man who loves Lup. Everything else feels secondary. He woke up thinking about her, went to sleep thinking about her, and in between he thought about her, looked at her, tried to act normal in front of her… 

And he was in love. Dear gods, he was so in love with her it hurt sometimes. He loved her brilliance and her strength and her kindness and her humor and her beauty and her laugh and her eyes and her thoughts and her stubbornness and her pranks and her impetuousness and her style and  _ her _ . 

He loved her.

He turned out the light and stripped off his clothes in the pale light coming through the window. The grounds of Legato were always lit, people working at all hours to perfect their submissions.

He crawled into bed in his boxers and stared up at the ceiling. He played through their song in his head, the new parts they’d added today, the places they had yet to work on still hazy. He took all the love and need and want and alchemized it into music. Every word he couldn’t say, every thought he couldn’t share, every feeling he couldn’t shake turned to notes lined up together, piano chords to accompany her violin. Music for her.

All of it, everything, always for her.

\---

Lup closed the door to her room and put her violin on the desk. They’d spent the whole day working on the song, playing then composing then playing again. Back and forth trying to find exactly the right notes, exactly the right everything. By the time they stopped for lunch it was almost dinner. Now she wasn’t hungry.

No. She was hungry. But it wasn’t food she wanted. She wanted Barry. She was starving for his hands on her skin. Those big, strong fingers were so delicate on the piano. They were so careful when he untangled her necklace. 

The memory of his soft, hesitant touch on her neck made her eyes drift shut and her breath hitch in her chest. She crossed her arms and pulled her shirt over her head. When it was off, she looked at the thread that had caused the problem. There it was, a tiny bit of stitching that had come loose. What a tiny miracle, to lead to him touching her. 

Gods, she was losing her mind. She was standing her praising a loose thread for some fingers grazing her neck when all she had to do was  _ talk to him _ and make something happen.

Why couldn’t she seem to do it?

She dropped the shirt over the back of her chair and sat on the bed. Her finger caught on her necklace and she toyed with it for a moment, letting the tip of her finger ride along the arc of the chain and delicately skate over her skin. She tugged her finger loose from the chain to slide down her chest, then brushed her fingertips along the edge of her bra.

She imagined the touch was from Barry’s hand. Just the thought of his fingers on her made her breath come faster. Barry’s touch, rough but so careful, as he slid over her skin. Barry’s hands undoing the clasp on her bra. Barry’s index finger sliding under the strap on her shoulder to tug it loose, pull the strap down slowly until one side fell free. Then the same motion on the other side until it dropped to the floor. What would he look like if he saw her? She could picture it too easily. She’d caught that raw, hungry expression on his face before. He was so careful but they were in each other’s company constantly. Of course she’d seen it. Is that how he’d look at her as he undressed her?

She imagined those fingers curling into the waistband of her soft, stretchy leggings, pulling them down so slowly over her hips, fingers grazing her thighs as he tugged the pants lower and lower.

Her pants joined her bra and kicked off flats, discarded on the floor. She laid back on the bed and tried to picture Barry looking at her, picture Barry’s eyes as he took in so much bare skin and one final, tiny scrap of material. 

She ghosted her hands over her breasts, thinking of Barry’s touch instead, imagining Barry’s delicate, hesitant touch sliding over her stomach until he reached the top of her panties. He’d stop, then, she decided. He’d stop and look up at her and make sure it was still what she wanted. He’d be desperate, hungry, want it as much as she did right now, and he’d still check in with her. She’d nod at him, encourage him with her eyes mirroring his own lust. 

Finally,  _ finally _ he’d hook his fingers in her panties and pull them down. He’d go so slowly and everywhere his fingers brushed over her skin would feel like a trail of sparks. When the final barrier was out of the way he’d look up at her, naked except for her necklace and her need for his touch.

Then he’d slide those hands back up her legs. But now he’d be touching her in earnest. No more light, feathery touches. Now his fingers would push over her skin, insistent and firm as they sought higher. When his hands were on her thighs he’d push them apart then continue his unrelenting trail upward. 

It was Lup’s hands that moved over herself but she was lost in the fantasy of Barry’s touch, Barry’s hands, and Barry’s need. There were so many other thoughts of him that she’d been consumed with in moments like this but months of watching his amazing, talented hands had her obsessed. She wanted his mouth too, of course. She wanted every damn part of him. But his hands… oh, his hands. She imagined his fingers curling  _ just so _ and his thumb moving  _ right there _ . Then she was biting her lip trying to hold back from crying out his name as Barry’s hand (her hand) moved just right and Barry’s fingers (her fingers) moved over her and in her and played her like an instrument.

When she came it was good but not nearly fulfilling enough. It was still just her own hands. Still only thoughts of him. It wasn’t his touch. Every single day she was realizing more and more that nothing else would fill that need.

She turned on her side and pulled her pillow to her chest, curled her arms tight around it. If she went and found him right now, what would he be doing? Would he be shocked that she’d just orgasmed with his name in her mouth and thoughts of his fingers getting her there?

\---

Barry fell over beside Lup, panting heavily through a broad grin that seemed like it hadn’t budged from his face in a week. She followed him, rolling on top of him. One finger ran over his mouth, tracing his smile. Then she laid her head on his chest with a happy hum of contentment. Her fingers played in the dark hairs on his chest.

“Gods, I thought about this so much,” she told him. “But this is actually better.”

“Really?” He ran his hand over her back, fingers dancing lightly over her skin the way they moved at the piano.

She shivered. “Oh, gods, babe, seriously. Your hands… holy shit, I thought about your hands a lot.”

The hand on her back stilled. “Did you? Really, Lup?”

She raised her head and opened her eyes. “Fuck yeah, I did. Watching you in the rehearsal room?” She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment. “Holy fuck. How did I not jump your bones in there? I had to move where I stood to play because I kept getting distracted watching your hands on the keys.”

Barry’s eyes went wide with surprise. “You’re teasing me. That never happened.”

“It’s true!” she protested. “Don’t you remember how badly I was doing in the beginning? Then I moved over where I couldn’t see your hands and suddenly my playing got better.”

Barry’s smile widened. “I can’t even believe it,” he told her. “I thought you just knocked the rust off. I mean you always sounded great but…”

She laid her head back down on his chest, nodding her head as she did. “It’s true. You were distracting me with those hands. I kept thinking of where I wanted them other than on that piano.”

“Such as?” he asked quietly. His face was red with embarrassment but the question had to be asked.

“Oh, I remember one time…” She looked up again, and there was a tinge of pink on her cheeks. “Okay, so, um, I thought about you a lot, okay? I mean, I assume that’s okay considering … now. But yeah, babe, I thought about your hands on me a lot.”

“I thought about you, too,” he admitted. “I mean, I don’t think there was much time I wasn’t thinking about you.”

“Really?!” she asked, delighted. “Tell me!”

“Uh… nothing specific really? Just… you.”

“You’re such a fucking sap,” she said fondly, laying her head back against his chest.


End file.
